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My new friend thought so as well, given the way he sneered at me even as he was ducking my wild swing and smashing the edge of his hand into my wrist.
Sharp pain detonated at the point of contact and sheared up my arm. I almost released the knife.
Almost.
Staggering back a step, I fought the nerve-tingling pain in my wrist and swung the knife at him again.
I had no fucking clue who he was, but he was clearly not here to try and tell me about the word of God, or to see if I’d sign up for HBO Now.
He ducked my swing with a snide chuckle. Talk about bruising my ego.
He continued to come at me. For a sickening moment, I felt like a mouse being played with by a cat.
It felt like forever, and at the same time, everything was moving so fast it was a blur. My heart roared in my ears. He kept chuckling at me. I kept swinging the knife at him, backing away from him as I did so.
Unfortunately, three backward staggers and a lot of knife swinging had my butt ramming against what felt like a solid hunk of rock. My memory of the room
told my frantic brain it was the white-granite console table positioned in the entry foyer.
Shit.
He lunged at me. Shamefully, I squealed.
His cruel fingers snared my wrist and suddenly, I was being crushed by his arms. I squirmed, kicking and bucking, my arms trapped to my side, my back mashing against his front.
Fuck, so much for kicking ass.
“Stop it, cunt, or I’ll fucking kill you now.”
I froze at his hot breath in my ear.
My mouth filled with the coppery taste of terror. My blood ran hot with fury. “That would be a mistake,” I declared, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Unless you want to be a walking corpse.”
He laughed, his lips a hot slug against my ear. “You think Lucas is going to save you?”
A numbing chill swept through me. “What have you done to him?”
Once again, he laughed. It was a sleazy, creepy sound, part smug gloat, part depraved lust. “Nothing. Yet. But now I have you, anything I fucking want.”
My stomach rolled. Was this Officer Dewey, the corrupt police officer who wanted to have sex with Lucas?
“Drop the knife, pussy cat,” he ordered, one hand circling my throat as the other clamped tighter around my wrist. He shook my hand, obviously in an attempt to encourage me to let the butcher’s knife go.
“Fuck you,” I snarled back, gripping the knife tighter and resuming my bucking struggles.
With another chuckle, he hauled me off my feet, spun around and slammed me—tummy first—against the edge of the console table.
White-hot pain shot through me in excruciating shards. I cried out, arching back as I slammed my palms to the wall. The knife didn’t make it to the wall, clattering instead to the tiled floor under my feet.
Holy fuck, it felt like a fire had erupted in my stomach and hipbones.
Pinning me to the table with his grinding groin, Dewey—if that’s who he was—pressed his lips to my ear. “After I’m done with your Lucas, I might give you a go, Veronica. I don’t normally go for cunts, but for you I’ll make an exception.”
It was Dewey. Oh God, he was vile.
“Do you always talk in clichés?” I ground out, tears stinging my eyes as I struggled between his gross weight and the granite console table.
Before he could answer, I reached behind me and clawed at as much of his face as I could.
